


ode to shinji-kun

by morthael



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Fluff, Happy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morthael/pseuds/morthael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a slightly happier loop, Kaworu loves and learns, and makes a decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ode to shinji-kun

**Author's Note:**

> mERRY CHRISTMAS HO HO HO this was meant to be posted two days ago

Shinji gives off a feeling of earthiness, of one planted firmly in the ground and looking skywards. He has tan skin; a shirt that hangs slightly too long for his slender frame; hands that are strong and large and curl inwards to hide that fact from the world. He is not tall, but he’s getting there, in a halting, hesitant, shuffling kind of way.

Kaworu knows this as one who’s lived uncountable years, those which must surely add up to at least one lifetime. These years have been filled with song, music, love, death. He’s seen much of the world but has never failed to fall again, _again_ for the boy with blue eyes and a shy smile, for the boy whose fine dark hair he’s never touched, for the boy who he thinks might just be perfection for all of his unmistakable and many flaws, despite them, because of them.

Shinji fascinates him in a way that is frighteningly human for someone who is an Angel, and Kaworu – he thinks he might love to meet Shinji in a world where there are no Evas, but without Evas he’d never have a chance to live, either.

Kaworu is the very opposite of Shinji, though with as many or perhaps many more flaws: he’s made of air and starlight, drifting slowly through a vacuum of sky and moon, and every time he looks earthwards from the moon he sees another chance to atone, to bring a fraction of hope into a bleak blood red landscape. His fingers are long and narrow, and his palms ache for the chance to hold Shinji’s in his own again. In the way that Shinji is firm, he is ephemeral, fleeting. A footstep on the moon stays forever, but his disappear every time he returns.

But Kaworu has no time to measure himself, to look deep into his own person. Shinji is waiting, for a chance for Kaworu to prove himself, and through a rush of bubbles of LCL, Kaworu feels a spark of anticipation, striking low and quick against his ribs. Kaworu is in love: he has been for years, and he must make a good impression. For all his bravado, he is just as fragile.

Kaworu’s heart is thrumming very fast by the time he reaches NERV. SEELE’s cars pull away and he’s left glancing this way and that as the metal doors open before him, the quick movement of his darting eyes giving away his nervousness. Captain Katsuragi seems a bit concerned with how twitchy he is; he assuages her with a charming smile that is a little off kilter. He hasn’t seen Shinji in fifteen years. It’s understandable, isn’t it?

“The other pilots are still at school.” The captain’s voice cracks like a whip against the walls of NERV, pastel green and with a surprising echo to them, and Kaworu jumps so intensely that he almost takes flight. Katsuragi’s not looking his way; they’re in the control room, and an Eva has already been set up for him to sync with.

He’s almost done with his shower after testing when the change room door opens, echoing loudly amongst the stalls. Stepping away from the spray for a second, Kaworu unlocks his stall and peeks outside, wet hair laying flat over his forehead and dripping rivulets down his face. He blinks a few times, then stares.

Kaworu has no control over his body: his mouth hangs slack, and his hands feel dizzyingly weak against the wall. He almost falls out onto the ground naked, wet tiles too slippery for his feet, but rights himself at the last second.

Being starved of Shinji for fifteen years makes him weak. The boy looks at him concernedly while he stares unabashedly back, hot water bouncing off his back and legs and steam rushing past his face – his flush can be mistaken for the heat of the water, right?

“Um...who are you?”

The words bring back reality, and Kaworu could slide down the wall in despair. Shinji is half-wearing his plugsuit, baggy around his knees, and clutches the sleeves around his chest. On the ground beside him is a bag, the white collar of his school shirt peeking through. The only sound in the change rooms is the pitter patter of water on unoccupied space, and Kaworu’s eyes dart to his own plugsuit and clothes, in the middle of the room, and the towel sprawling haphazardly beside them.

Shinji follows his line of sight, spots the towel, and follows it back to Kaworu, half huddled in the space between the stall door and the wall. Red rises to his cheeks and he splutters a bit, struggling to shrug his suit on and snatching Kaworu’s towel from the bench. He brings it over, thrusts it at him, and Kaworu snaps off the water, sheepishly taking it from Shinji and wrapping it around his torso.

“I’m Kaworu, Nagisa Kaworu,” he says as he finally steps out, wringing bits of water out of his hair. “The Fifth Child.” Shinji’s eyes don’t drop below his bare shoulders, and through the beating of his heart like a bird in a cage, Kaworu feels elated, inspired.

Shinji looks healthy – better than the last world, and the one before that. He looks surprised, a bit bemused, but he doesn’t seem too put off by their abrupt and awkward first meeting, which Kaworu is thankful for. His brow smooths out beautifully as Kaworu smiles, and the beginnings of a returning smile form at the edges of his lips. Kaworu feels a little weak at the knees.

“I...I’m Shinji,” he returns. “Er – Ikari Shinji. I have – I have sync testing now, so I’ll see you later...?”

Kaworu beams back, adjusting the towel around him. “I’ll wait for you, Ikari Shinji-kun,” he says, and Shinji leaves, departing the room with a backwards glance at him, his cheeks still warm with a dusting of red.     

 Kaworu sighs expansively as Shinji’s footsteps fade away, unwrapping the towel and drying himself off. Shinji is as appealing as ever, fragile and strong, and Kaworu is in _love,_ he can barely contain himself – he could soar to the heavens with Shinji in his arms, and he’d feel none the worse.

*

Dr. Akagi has him running tests while Shinji sits in Unit-01, measuring his height, weight, blood type – at this, the irony is not lost on Kaworu – and by the time she’s finished and sends him packing with a map of NERV, Shinji’s already left the testing chamber, and the plug has been ejected from the Eva.

He finds him in the change rooms again, hair wet, buttoning up his shirt. Kaworu stands in the doorway, hovering, and Shinji must sense him watching.

“Oh – you came, Nagisa-kun!” his voice is surprised, with a hint of happiness, and Kaworu feels a swell of warmth in his chest.

“Yes, I had some further tests anyway,” he says, and Shinji grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He turns back, intending to pick up his sopping plugsuit, but Kaworu’s there before him, folding it delicately in half and squashing most of the LCL out of it before lifting it up in his arms, careful to keep it at a distance from his own shirt. “I’ll take that for you, Ikari-kun.”

The blush is back in full force as they walk out of the change room. “Thanks,” Shinji murmurs, and Kaworu smiles a crinkle-eyed smile back at him. The hallway is filled with small chatter as they return the plugsuit. Kaworu takes the headset off Shinji’s hair before he walks off with it, brushing against strands of wet hair. “Thanks,” he repeats, looking down at the ground and smiling a little.

They continue walking, all the way to the gates. Kaworu pauses before them while Shinji continues forward; he looks back at him questioningly.

“I, ah, have an apartment inside NERV,” Kaworu says, and his heart plummets to the depths of his stomach as Shinji’s face falls. He feels cold sweat creeping up his spine and blinks rapidly, keeping the red of his eyes dry. Shinji’s eyebrows draw downwards, a tiny jerk of his head forwards, and he takes a step back.

Just as Kaworu is about to turn around and leave, Shinji speaks up, his voice soft. “That seems lonely,” he says, and Kaworu pauses, looking up at him. Shinji hesitates, and extends a hand. “You – you could come with me, Nagisa-kun,” he continues. “I...I have room. At my apartment. If you don’t mind sharing with Misato and Asuka.” His words stumble painfully across each other, but to Kaworu, each new syllable coming from Shinji’s mouth is like sweet water to a parched man.

He swallows, his throat no longer dry, and catches Shinji’s palm in his. It’s warm from the shower, and larger than his own, and he can’t help but think their hands were meant to fit together. His cheeks are warm as he speaks. “Please, call me Kaworu.”

Shinji doesn’t say anything about their hands, still clasped together, as they exit headquarters, but Kaworu swears he can feel his tightening against his own, fingers pressed firmly in the grooves between his knuckles.

They sit together on the train home. Through the windows, the sun hangs low in the sky, orange beams scattering through glass. Shinji hesitates, looking at their thighs almost touching, and pulls out his SDAT, balanced loosely in a slack grip. Kaworu cocks his head as Shinji unwinds the cords.

“Would you...like to listen?” he says, shyly offering one when he’s done. Kaworu accepts with wide eyes, holding the earbud in his hands as if it were a holy treasure, and tucks it in his ear, a lock of hair falling over it as he pulls his hand away. His silver hair is dry by now, and sticks out in a fluffy mess of recently showered, not so recently combed.

“Music is good,” he murmurs, and Shinji hits _play._ It’s soft and soothing, just like the boy himself, and it’s all Kaworu can do not to stare adoringly, his stomach doing strange Lilim things that he didn’t think was possible.

“I guess it is,” Shinji agrees quietly. The afternoon sun paints the contours of his face, and Kaworu blinks, smiling a little sleepily.

“I play piano,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Drawing in a deep breath, Kaworu closes his eyes and smiles. He’s sure they’ll be able to play a duet together.

He doesn’t mean to, but as the train trip progresses, Kaworu loses a little more consciousness, drooping to the side unsteadily. At some point, his head touches Shinji’s shoulder, hair settling around it in a tiny halo – even his hair knows who his heart belongs to. He must decide the shoulder is comfortable, for soon enough Kaworu is slumbering peacefully away, tucked firmly in the niche between shoulder and neck, fitting perfectly in the curve. His arms stray forward, searching out Shinji’s and unconsciously winding themselves around his.

When they reach Shinji’s stop, Kaworu awakes to a hand gently shaking his shoulder, the warmth of human contact seeping through the material of his shirt. It’s warm, and he snuggles closer to that contact, only for the intensity of the shakes to increase, bringing him fully out of his slumber.

During the course of their trip, Kaworu has managed to slip from Shinji’s shoulder into his lap, burying his head in Shinji’s legs. As he sits up, yawning, he sees Shinji’s face through teary eyes, beet red and biting his lip.

“Let’s go, Kaworu-kun,” he says, and Kaworu slips his hand in Shinji’s for the second time that day, alighting from the train.

He expects the apartment to be a little crowded by the time they get there, but Shinji assures him that Misato and Asuka are still busy. The pilots have had separate testing all day, he says. Kaworu is a little intrigued – he’s never met the Second Child before, but he’ll make do with an otherwise empty apartment, too. Shinji bustles about busily while Kaworu watches, no amount of empathy able to mimic the deadly precision with which the other boy does the housework.

Soon, two hot mugs of tea are on the table, joining a small platter of strawberries that was already there. Kaworu sinks into a seat a little bonelessly and holds the mug gently to his chest. While Shinji pulls on a pair of gloves and squirts detergent into the sink, he reaches out to snag a strawberry, chewing down on it thoughtfully. Shinji, hearing the movement, turns around, his eyes widening and a hand flung out, too late. 

_Sour._ Kaworu makes a strained noise in the back of his throat and painfully swallows, the fruit searingly sour in his mouth. Tears form in the corners of his eyes, and when he looks up, tongue licking the insides of his cheeks to rid himself of the taste, he sees Shinji, who seems caught between horrified and laughing.

“I – I should have warned you!” he says, rushing forward and bringing the mug of tea to Kaworu’s lips. “They’re really – not tasty, Misato doesn’t know how to buy the good ones – and I’ve been meaning to put them in the bin...”

Kaworu drinks from the mug, a long pull, and swallows, laughter in his eyes as he looks up at Shinji. Their fingers both rest on the cup, Kaworu’s wrapped around the edges while Shinji supports the bottom. “It was my fault,” he says, when his mouth is empty. “I should have asked.”

Shinji still looks a little scandalised, though, so Kaworu beams up at him with a gaze close to smitten, and Shinji at last turns away, blushing hard. “I’ll prepare dinner,” he says. “They should be home soon.”

Kaworu spends the next half hour hovering beside Shinji, wondering if he’s a nuisance as the other boy throws together ingredients seemingly at random. He has faith in Shinji’s cooking, though, and sure enough, dishes start to make sense, the rice cooker’s light turns green, and the smell of boiled vegetables permeates the apartment. Shinji asks him to open a few of the windows, and Kaworu happily complies, returning to Shinji’s side once he’s done.

The door opens at a quarter to seven, just as Shinji turns off the heat and loads the last dish, pulling the strings of his apron. They get stuck, and Kaworu moves over to help pull at them, fiddling a little idly with the knot. It’s not out of lack of enthusiasm, but rather with a sense of bemusement.

The door slides open and a redheaded girl bounces in, tearing the straps of her bag off her back and flinging it to the floor. She kicks off her shoes, spins around, and pauses when she catches sight of the two of them.

“Well hello,” she says, and her eyes dart to Kaworu, his fingers still untying the knot of the apron. “Homo-boy.”

Kaworu blinks while Shinji flushes a deep, bright red. Misato enters behind Asuka, a look of surprise briefly filtering through her face as she sees him, before shrugging and hanging up her jacket. “Making friends already, Nagisa-kun,” she says a little playfully. Her eyes latch onto the food and widen. “Oh, and a lovely dinner already waiting for us! I can’t wait!”

She practically dives at the table. Asuka rolls her eyes a bit and grumbles, but there doesn’t seem to be any real poison behind her bite. The knot comes loose, and Kaworu frees Shinji from his apron’s grasp.

The dinner setting is a little strange. Kaworu doesn’t recall ever having sat down with Misato – let alone Asuka – for a meal, and he can’t help but smile at them all, eating dinner quietly and peacefully. He’d give anything for it to last.

“What are you looking at, Fifth?” Asuka growls as his gaze passes over her, and though Shinji looks up in alarm, Kaworu shrugs a little, placatingly.

“It’s a pleasure of meeting you,” he says, and Asuka rolls her eyes in response.

After dinner, they forgo the ritual of taking a shower, having already done so at headquarters. Shinji leads Kaworu to his room, inspecting the futon critically and deciding that it’s not necessary to add another one – Misato claiming that there aren’t any more maybe having something to do with that decision, Kaworu thinks, gazing at Shinji.

“It’s no matter,” he says breezily, smiling. He’s never done this, never truly had the pleasure of staying in _Shinji’s_ apartment, and yet the exchanges are hauntingly familiar. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No, no!” Shinji’s adamant, and if nothing, he’s a good host, or tries to be, and Kaworu lets himself be convinced into joining him on the futon. He positively tingles in anticipation, and clutches at his chest when Shinji’s out of sight.

At night, Shinji throws the covers over the both of them, and stays facing upwards, unwilling – or too embarrassed – to turn in the other direction. Kaworu looks over, rolls over, and sees Shinji’s eyes, still open, and glinting ever so slightly in the dark.

“Did you want to talk?” Kaworu says, and Shinji expels a breath, also rolling over to face him. Their faces are close; their arms bundled between them even closer, and Kaworu can feel the breeze of every unsteady breath floating past him. He’s so close, he’s never been this close before...

“It’s so strange,” Shinji says, his voice low. His brow twists upwards, and Kaworu wants nothing more than to smooth it out for him, a brush of his fingers to the crease. “There hasn’t been an attack in a long time. I...I should be happy, I guess. There’s nothing but tests and school. But...”

Kaworu gives in, reaching out and touching his fingers to Shinji’s forehead. He stiffens, at first, but gives way, his eyes fluttering shut as Kaworu pulls his finger across, relaxing muscle. His hand moves, cupping the side of Shinji’s face, fingers burying themselves in his hair. The strands are silky and short, shuffling underneath Kaworu’s touch. Shinji’s eyes open slowly again, a little confused, but stay half lidded. His hand reaches up and circles around Kaworu’s wrist, holding him.

“What...would make you happy, Shinji-kun?” Kaworu murmurs, and Shinji pushes a little, ducking his head further into Kaworu’s grasp.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles back, and his fingers play with the back of Kaworu’s hand, tracing lines gently. “Probably...probably if I knew why I was here. Why we pilot Eva.” He sighs. “Why we have to kill the Angels.”

Kaworu’s heart resonates painfully with those last words, and he swallows quietly in the dark. Shinji must sense his discomfort, and he looks up, those blue eyes searching his out and seemingly looking through him. Kaworu wonders if Shinji knows, in that moment, that he is an Angel.

“We should sleep,” Shinji says finally, and the sound of him turning around underneath the sheets covers the sound of Kaworu’s heart falling.

Wordlessly, Kaworu shuffles as close as he can, flinging his arm around Shinji’s chest, and buries his face in his neck, as tight as he can without being painful. Shinji expels a sharp breath, surprised, and twists.

“Kaworu-kun?” he says, the word more of a squeak, and Kaworu pushes his forehead further against him.

They lie like that for a while, Kaworu’s body flush against Shinji, his grip loosening slowly. Shinji makes no move to extract himself, yet Kaworu is still overcome by – guilt, hatred at himself, and breathes lightly against Shinji’s back.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, the word muffled against the cloth of Shinji’s pyjamas, and when Shinji finally pushes, nudging at his arm, Kaworu retreats meekly, resolving not to try and touch him ever again. He’s stupid, stupid for thinking he could move so fast.

He isn’t expecting Shinji to turn around and place his elbows around Kaworu’s head, fingers hesitantly burying themselves in the soft mess of hair. Shinji lowers himself down so that they’re a hair’s width away, their noses almost touching. Kaworu’s pupils are dilated, his breath is short, and he stares upwards at him without a sound.

“This...this is it, right?” Shinji breathes, and Kaworu feels hot air at his chin.

And he’s right, Shinji’s right, he’s realised this before Kaworu did himself, he’s got him figured out more easily than he could have ever imagined, and it’s with tears in his eyes that he nods, a tiny fraction that bumps their noses together. And Shinji laughs, breathlessly, wipes away the tears, and kisses him on the mouth, softly, sweetly. Kaworu melts, he’s putty at Shinji’s command, and he’s really just a silly fool in love, hardly an Angel, driven by nothing more than empathy and the love of a boy named Ikari Shinji.

They part for breath, their lips still close, and Shinji runs his hands through Kaworu’s hair another time while Kaworu looks up at him. Shinji kisses him again, and he thinks he must surely be more than halfway to Lilim now with the whooshing of nerves and butterflies in his stomach. His eyes close, and he kisses back, and feels the soft press of soft lips with his own mouth, their teeth clicking together sometimes but managing to stay away for the most part.

They end up both facing each other, Shinji’s hands clasped around his loosely, a thread of drool escaping from his mouth. If he moves his feet, Kaworu can entwine their legs, and if he tilts his head, he can kiss Shinji’s forehead. The other boy looks peaceful in sleep, brow smooth and mouth slack. Kaworu tilts his head, kisses Shinji’s forehead.

He can’t go to Terminal Dogma tomorrow. There’s more to do, always. He’s been so cruelly deprived of his life that he’s forgotten to live for life; he’s been living for death. There must be more. There is always more.

Tomorrow, perhaps they will catch a train together. Perhaps Shinji will lend him his lap again. And perhaps he will live to see the first snow since Second Impact.              

 

 


End file.
